


Parturition

by demiyurgos



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Horror, Monsters, One Shot, Short One Shot, Suicide, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28611861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiyurgos/pseuds/demiyurgos
Summary: That was when I laid my eyes upon the horror. Something so indescribably odd that the mere fleeting thought of it alone would be enough to send any person into a fit of anxiety, dread, and fear. I was at an utter loss of words as I found myself petrified by the sight of it. The woman, if it deserved such a name, was writhing and contorting into painfully winding angles that nothing created by God should be able to twist into.
Kudos: 1





	Parturition

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't know you can put original works on ao3??? anyway, here's an assignment my writing lecturer told us to make. there is a maximum word cap, which is unfortunate, but i think i made do with what i had. the story was inspired by H.P. Lovecraft's "Dagon".
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Ladies and gentlemen of the Synod, I am writing this letter under extreme mental duress for – in my current abject state of existence – I no longer have the time for prayers and worship, much less the means to afford proper medication. Driven out from a church in which I’ve made my residence, penniless, and unable to distract my consciousness from playing in a loop vivid images of the horror that had befallen me, there simply is no other conceivable option for me besides the one that I am about to take once the process of disclosing my predicament to you has been sorted out. 

Do not think of me as a heathen or a degenerate, for it is in the name of our Lord and Savior that I have decided to commit my life to Him by surrendering it at the round end of a noose. It is my hope that, upon reading my hastily written recount, you would come to understand why.  
The month of December had always been unfriendly with its meteorological occurrences to us. Days of heavy torrential rain where the firmaments above felt like a heavy, oppressive grey blanket that stretched from eternity to eternity. Scarce sunlight and the constant roars of thunder that tore through the heavens made it an even more insufferable season to experience. As if to complement that, the fact of our minuscule existence in this country – and the suffering that came with it – planted even more seeds of doubt in the hearts of our congregants, to the point where the children of God would leave His house empty for weeks on end.

I was in such pitiful condition – alone inside the pastoral house, writing pamphlets that I would deliver to the houses of congregants come Tuesday and lighting the prototype of candles that would be used during Christmas sermon as I silently curse the endless pitter patter of the rain outside my dilapidated roof and watch in considerable annoyance as drops of water slipped through its cracks and unto the floor – when commotion broke not fifty meters outside of my front door. In my current, agony-riddled state of mind, it was nigh impossible for me to recount the details of what those people had conversed about, but considering the events that followed afterwards, I would believe that it had something to do with the individual they had carried into the front porch of my domicile.

They needn’t knocked more than twice. I was already at the door – dumbstruck as to why four men had carried a woman who was bleeding from her womanhood into my abode. When I asked them to identify themselves, they told me that they’re congregants of a Lutheran church which they refused to mention where. In response to pressing for even more details, they grew violent in their words. Purposefully weaponizing them to strike at my sense of duty as a clergyman and a Christian. With the knots of anxiety turning inside my stomach, I opened my door and allowed them in – ordering to lay the woman down on my bed.

As if they possessed some capabilities to look into the thoughts and desires of others, one of them spoke against my intentions to alert the authorities and have them provide assistance to the sickly woman that had begun to grow even paler than her unusually pale complexion. Not only that, I noticed that her mouth was constantly in motion, making peculiar shapes as if reciting a silent prayer in a language no human could understand. Occasionally, she would croak out words that – even before my mind had been scattered into a million manic pieces – escaped my knowledge about the human language. When I insisted that she be brought to a hospital, one of the men held my hand firmly and, in a tone that was almost otherworldly in its commanding nature, instructed me to put away the phone and “let her have her rest for it won’t be long”.  
Somehow, as if a part of my inner working had been altered, I agreed and made a solemn promise to not alert the authorities of her presence. To which the men responded with a silent nod before leaving me alone. As they walked away from view, their figures disappearing as the horizon swallowed them, I noticed one turning to look back. From such a distance, I shouldn’t have been able to notice any facial expression but somehow, I felt a blanket of cold land down on me.

Before I could even fully process the unsettling sensation that had seeped inside my soul, a blood curdling shriek erupted from the bedroom. As my reflexes took over and forced me to crouch and cover my ears, by some mysterious turn of event, I came to the realization that the voice that had struck me couldn’t have been produced by a singular human being. There were layers of it; different decibels wickedly complementing one another and forming a cacophony of an inhumane choir. Even without having studied any particular field of linguistics and phonology, I could still register the fact that that “woman” had spoken in some manner of grammatical order completely alien to the average human.

In a pace that could only be described as sluggishly slow, I crawled towards the bedroom; occasionally falling face first onto the floor as my hands instinctively abandoned the rest of my body to put themselves between my eardrums. After what had seemed like forever, I finally pushed myself through the doorway.

That was when I laid my eyes upon the horror. Something so indescribably odd that the mere fleeting thought of it alone would be enough to send any person into a fit of anxiety, dread, and fear. I was at an utter loss of words as I found myself petrified by the sight of it. The woman, if it deserved such a name, was writhing and contorting into painfully winding angles that nothing created by God should be able to twist into. From its mouth, spewed obscure words that carried more bile and poison than even the most blasphemous speeches a heretic could conjure up. It was at that moment that I noticed that its stomach had grown in size. Unlike a pregnant woman, that bulge wasn’t immobile. No – as it kept on spitting those unfathomable words, the bulge crawled. Inching painfully slowly upwards. Before long, it had reached her bosom, leaving bruises and stretch marks of contortion along what I, from my understanding of human anatomy, could assume was its torso.

By that point, I felt as though my body was on fire. Every sense I possessed was demanding me to spin my heels and leave the premises right at that moment. But somehow, through some unknown arcane gravity, the creature that once assumed the form of a woman managed to keep me frozen in my place. An unwilling witness to whatever ungodly process that it went through. Before long, the crawling lump stopped on the neck and the profanity ceased. In a macabre moment of silence, the creature froze in its place. Completely still and motionless as the lump twitched. In my mind, though I was still stuck in that same place standing like a statue, a hopeful part of me whispered that it was all over; that the terror had ended. Somehow, I found myself believing it – my breathing getting steadier as I leaned against the door frame to support my pale and weakened body.

I had never been more wrong in my life.

In what I could only describe – out of fear that I could not bear the thought long enough to even finish my recount if illustrated in further detail – as an explosion, the skin on the throat burst open. Sending inner organs out, spilling them all over the bed sheet, its striking crimson creating a grim contrast against the ivory fabric. 

My mouth gaped open at the sight of it. 

I tried to scream and call out to God, but deep down I knew that in this place, even He won’t be able to save me. As my legs turned to flaccid sticks of clay and I slumped unto the floor, gasping erratically for air.

Out of the hole crawled what I could only say as an inversion of a human. Everything about us: our bodily structures and even the very idea of our existence was bastardized by this… grotesque, babe-like monstrosity. Its eyes radiated the cold of death and its hands bore only three fingers that formed an inverted triangle should a line be drawn to connect them. Soon after, it opened its mouth and from the deep abyss within came laughter.

And I figured I went insane right then and there.

About my escape and subsequent trip to considerable refuge, my memories served me no better than a thick fog served a pilgrim on their way. All that I could remember was my hands moving as fast as it could to drag my body backwards, out of the room and unto the front porch of my residence. Somehow, on the way out, I had managed to grab my lighter and a candle and had saved enough sanity and self-control to light it up and threw it upon the building to set it ablaze.

When I came out of the shadows of my own mind, I realized that I was in a cheap motel where the scents of cigarettes and the fragrances of prostitutes hung lightly in the air. The moon outside was forebodingly gibbous, and I couldn’t help but recall the events that had transpired earlier to the point where its image drove me into being weary of the proceedings of life.

The end is near for me. 

I could hear that same abyssal laughter – drawing closer and closer every second.

It would not find me. It would not drag me to the depth of its Hell.

Lord Jesus Christ, unto Thy hands I surrender my life!


End file.
